


some assembly required

by lightfighter



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, eve is a work obsessed general manager who will gladly wage this war, killing eve but the murder free ikea version, villanelle likes watching people lose their hope for a better life in the bedroom storage showroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28204179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightfighter/pseuds/lightfighter
Summary: “You know, Eve, they say that going to IKEA together is the ultimate stress test for relationships, right? This is just like that.”“This is nothing like that.”OR: someone keeps putting fake floor arrows on the paths of Eve's IKEA and trapping her customers in an inescapable labyrinth. Eve will not have it.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 44
Kudos: 170





	some assembly required

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coolserietv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolserietv/gifts).



> Happy birthday coolserietv!! Your fic support and encouragement are top-tier. This isn't grandmaster smut, but it is IKEA fic, so that's something, right?

“Eve, they’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” Eve doesn’t look up from her laptop. 

“You know, that thing where they just...mill aimlessly while looking overwhelmed.”

“This is an IKEA, Elena. That’s all people come here to do.”

“I mean, yeah, but these ones are wandering in...sort of...a pattern? I dunno.” Elena sneaks a nervous glance out the window of the cramped back office they’re in, as if the wandering hordes are about to lose the last vestiges of their humanity and force their way in, one hand tugging at the collar of her yellow employee polo. 

“Yes, there are signs,” Eve replies disinterestedly. “The signs confuse and scare people. That’s how this works.”

“Eve, seriously. I’ve seen the same couple reappear six times. They look like they’re about to lose it.” 

Eve heaves an aggrieved sigh, continuing to tap away. The piles of paperwork on either side of her computer, old coffee mugs dotting the spaces between, help form an impressive barrier between her and any employee who might find their way here, though Elena has always been impervious to it. “You know this is where people come to stress test their relationships, right?”

“Obviously, and you know that’s one of the main reasons I work here,” Elena says, hooking a thumb back in the direction of the showroom, “but something’s up. They shouldn’t be this frazzled ‘til they get to the bedroom showrooms.”

 _This_ gets Eve’s attention, finally, and she fixes Elena with a suddenly piercing stare, emails forgotten. “Where is this happening, exactly?”

Elena looks back, deadly serious. “ _Workspaces_.”

Eve rises to her feet, closing her laptop with a decisive snap. “Show me.”

At Workspaces, it is immediately apparent that Elena was not overstating matters. Eve counts multiple couples wandering with the sort of thousand-yard stare they shouldn’t have acquired until Dining, at the earliest. Desperation is palpable in the air. Several grown men look dangerous close to tears, far before they should. 

IKEA is a crucible that squeezes and squeezes, until the weak crack under its weight and only the strong emerge — far from unscathed but still standing. But it is a crucible of Eve’s design, and firmly under her control. 

This is not under her control.

“This is bad.”

Elena, to her credit, limits herself to rolling her eyes enormously at this statement of the obvious, saying only, “I noticed it when I got back from my break. I dunno how long they’ve been like this.”

Eve watches the dead-eyed crowd mill. “Who was on last shift here?”

“Hugo.” There is a world of disdain packed into those two syllables.

Eve just grunts, too busy taking in the scene, looking for clues. Something is out of whack, has upset the fine balance she pours so much effort into maintaining to keep people moving through the showroom with just enough urgency to keep them on edge but not entirely render them useless. They’ve been rendered useless, and she will not have it. 

The displays look alright, the myriad desk chairs are as they should be, the entrances are fine, the signs are present, the floor arrows…

The floor arrows. 

Her eyes narrow. “Elena.”

Elena follows her gaze uncertainly. “Um, yes?”

“That arrow should be pointing to the shortcut to Dining. Instead it’s pointing _back to Living Room Storage_.” The gravity of the situation could not be clearer.

“Wait, what—”

“—And _that_ arrow is pointing to a path that doesn’t even exist.”

“How—”

“Oh my god, and that one will take them back to the beginning!”

Elena follows each new arrow Eve points at, eyebrows shooting up more and more. 

Finally, Eve’s hand drops. She looks very grave. “The arrows as they are now create a looping path. A labyrinth from which there is no escape.”

“Um...okay, well, that’s terrifying, but how did—”

“Elena.”

Elena stops short. Eve’s voice has grown soft, but somehow that much more menacing. “Sabotage.”

“Um,” Elena says, feeling out of her depth and more than a bit concerned about whatever is happening to Eve.

“Someone is trying to _sabotage_ the showroom. _My_ showroom.” Eve meets her gaze; Elena fails to hide a cringe at the fire building there. “I won’t let them. Get someone to fix these goddamn arrows, find wherever Hugo’s hiding for his daily nap that he thinks I don’t know about, and then haul his sorry ass with you and meet me at Security.”

She’s gone before Elena can so much as respond, leaving the woman to watch, dumbfounded, as Eve stomps off, rage and what Elena can only identify as the thrill of the chase radiating off her.

Elena sighs, looking up at the ceiling plaintively, hoping for divine intervention to either save her or lightning bolt her out of existence once and for all. This is exactly the sort of thing she’s been hoping _won’t_ happen: Eve’s gotten bored, and when she gets bored, she gets antsy. Elena knows perfectly well how important the store is to Eve, and how wrapped up she gets in keeping it running like a well-oiled machine, but the flipside of all this obsession is that it’s become almost too easy for her. Hence the boredom. 

And now she has a challenger at hand, ready to face her and her carefully-planned operations head on. The gauntlet has been thrown down, and, Elena can tell perfectly, Eve is all too ready to scoop it up. _Has_ scooped it up.

Great.

When it becomes apparent that no deus ex machina of any form will occur, she mutters under her breath and sets off to find Hugo, shoulders bowing under the complete certainty that this will not end well. 

  
  


**

To Elena’s alarm, when she arrives at the security office, a deeply reluctant Hugo in tow (still mostly asleep from his covert, rudely disturbed nap in an out-of-the-way armchair in Bedroom Storage), Eve’s fury has cooled, but instead of disappearing has hardened into cold resolve. She barely turns when they enter, staring at the CCTV monitors displaying the many camera views throughout the warehouse with unblinking intensity. A quick glance confirms the usual hapless security desk jockey has been dismissed from the premises, Eve happy to exercise her power as general manager and directly take over operations as per usual.

“Hugo.”

He clears his throat. “Uh, yes?”

“Wanna tell me what happened? On _your_ shift?”

“Look, Eve, I have _no_ idea— I went to grab a coffee for, like, a minute—”

“A _coffee_?” Eve’s voice grows only more deadly, if that was possible.

(Elena takes a step away from Hugo here, lest she be found guilty by association.)

He cringes, even as he shoots a glare at Elena. “I was feeling...a bit...sleepy. The showroom can get a bit warm—”

She turns, then, and his previously MIA survival instinct makes a belated return at her skewering look; he lapses into silence, much to Elena’s relief.

Apparently satisfied, Eve turns to the monitors again. “I think we’ve learned that floor managers are expected to be on the floor while on shift. And will stay there. Haven’t we.”

Hugo nods, then at an elbow from Elena mutters his assent.

“Anyway. We have a saboteur, folks. An _asshole_ saboteur. A _smart_ asshole saboteur.”

“So are they an asshole?”

Hugo doesn’t react to the elbow this time; Eve doesn’t bother replying, just continuing on. “Whoever they are, they’re good. They’re timing their stupid arrow changes with crowd movements, and doing it very intermittently so as to not raise attention. Look, here’s Hugo leaving the floor for his coffee,” she points to one screen, and they all watch as TV-Hugo strolls away, hands in his pockets (Elena rolls her eyes at a clearly unrepentant actual-Hugo), “a crowd comes through, and look, the real arrow’s gone. And then, a minute later, the fake one’s in place.”

“Can you get any glimpses of the person?”

“Not really, they’re super careful. But...I think it might be a woman? Just a hunch.”

Hugo raises a brow. “A hunch?”

“Yes.” For a moment it doesn’t seem that Eve will elaborate, but then she adds, “It’s...neat.”

Elena and Hugo exchange glances. There’s no denying it; Eve sounds... _appreciative_. Impressed, even. 

“But this is...bad, yeah? The inescapable labyrinth, no escape, traumatized crowds and all that?” Elena’s voice is careful. 

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Bad.” Eve is distracted. 

They watch her watch the monitors for a few more seconds. “So…”

She clears her throat, turning to face them. “Yes. Right. You’ve had the arrows fixed?”

Elena nods.

“Okay, well,” Eve says, “I guess that’s all we can do right now. Needless to say, we know to keep an eye on all the signage now, arrows and all. Hopefully this was some kid’s one-off prank for the month, or something.”

They both nod along, and Elena says, “Yes, right. Anyway, we know what’s happening, now. Don’t worry, Eve. This won’t happen again.”

  
  


**

It happens again.

“Oh, for the love of god.”

“Eve— I swear, I have no idea how—”

They’re all back in the security office, this time with Kenny — it was on his shift this time, much to Hugo’s glee — joining the crowd in the increasingly crowded room. 

“It’s fine, Kenny.”

“ _What—_ ” Hugo starts, outraged, but Eve talks over him, impatient. 

She is staring at the screens, hardly blinking. “Whoever she is, she’s good. And bored, obviously. Dangerous combo. She’s showing off.”

Again with the tone of admiration. Kenny sends a questioning glance to the other two, who just shrug. “And...the note?”

He’s referring to the post-it with a scribbled “Sorry, Baby” found by one of the arrows. (No one has dared discuss who the ‘baby’ in question might be in earshot of Eve, though the way she snatched the scrap of paper and stared at it before stuffing it in her pocket, never bringing it up again, has already said enough.)

“She’s...daring us to find her.” It’s not apparent that Eve is even talking to them anymore. Her voice is soft, lost in thought. “Like she wants... _me_.”

“Sorry?” Kenny is (understandably) startled; Elena just sends another plaintive look upwards. 

“Uh, to— to find her,” Eve clarifies hastily. “Me to find her.” She smiles, suddenly, though it’s more a baring of teeth than an expression of happiness. “But she picked the wrong IKEA. She picked _my_ IKEA.”

Kenny, clearly deciding that discretion is the better part of valor and there is nothing to be gained by questioning Eve’s slightly unhinged tone, just nods.

There’s an awkward beat, then Eve says, decisive, “We all need to be more on our guards. She used the same M.O. as last time. Moving in crowds, all that. I almost get a glimpse of her, but she keeps moving and never looks up. It’s...frustrating.”

“We’ll keep an eye out, Eve,” Kenny says.

“Do that. I’ll start spending more time on the floor myself, see if we can’t get a sign of her in case she decides to make go for the hat trick.”

“Right,” Kenny replies. “She can’t keep getting away with this.”

  
  


**

She gets away with it again. This time, it’s in Work Spaces. It’s a slap in the face.

“ _How_ — I mean, she’s just taunting us at this point.”

The saboteur has left another note. It addresses “Darling Eve” by name, with an earnest hope that Eve is impressed with her work. Eve stared at it for about twice as long as the first one before tucking it away; no one’s dared ask what she’s doing with them.

“How hasn’t she gotten _bored_?” This is Hugo. 

“She’s clearly getting a kick out of watching people’s hope die,” Elena replies. “Also our reactions to it, obviously. IKEA has a strange effect on people that this arrow thing is just making worse. Which, I mean, I get, but also, slightly excessive at this point.”

Eve doesn’t reply to any of them. She’s standing before the monitors, eyes roving endlessly. If she looks slightly manic, no one will comment on it.

“There!”

They all jump slightly before following Eve’s finger. And watch as a woman steps out of a wardrobe in one of the bedroom showrooms. She’s hard to make out, wearing a flat-brim cap and a bulky jacket, backpack looped over her shoulders, but the way she walks purposefully out of Bedroom Storage towards Work Spaces is telling. 

They all stare at this looping footage for a bit before Hugo says, thoughtful, “You know, I didn’t really think the BRIMNES was all that roomy, but she’s proved me wrong.”

“That’s not a BRIMNES, you idiot,” Elena replies, voice dripping with disdain. “It’s a SONGESAND. Honestly, shouldn’t you know this by now?”

“Um, no, actually, Elena, it’s clearly a BRIMNES—”

“Guys.” Kenny shoots a look at Elena and Hugo before taking a fortifying breath, stepping up besides Eve. “Eve, maybe we should get corporate involved—”

“No.”

“I just think—”

“No, Kenny.” Eve’s tone is final. “This is between me and her.”

They all look up at the woman stepping out of the BRIMNES/SONGESAND. This time, none of them miss the way she, as she steps into Work Spaces, looks up at the camera nearest her for the briefest moment. 

And smiles. 

No one talks for a second.

“This little prick,” Eve finally mutters. 

They all shift to look at Eve. She’s smiling, very slightly. “Eve?”

“I think...I’ve seen her before.” She doesn’t look away from the pixelated glimpse of the woman.

“What?!” Hugo straightens with new interest. “Where? How can you even tell?”

“In the showroom, before. Maybe. Just a feeling.”

They let this sink in for a moment.

“So...what should we do?” Kenny sounds almost like he’d rather not know Eve’s next move. 

“She clearly wants to talk to me. So...I’ll indulge her.”

“Eve, don’t you think this is getting a little out of—”

“Just do what I need you to do, Kenny.”

“Right.”

  
  


**

Eve’s exacting instructions are carried out. The saboteur’s prank invasions have been inconsistent and impossible to predict, and there’s no way to know when she’ll strike again, aside from knowing that she _will_. That’s perhaps the only certain part of any of this. (Well, that and the fact that she’s getting far too much of a kick out of tormenting the hapless patrons and employees of IKEA, but that should be a given at this point.)

Doubling the floor staff, or watching the entrances, or expecting nonstop heightened vigilance for all hours of the work day, all for an _indefinite_ amount of time, isn’t exactly feasible, especially with Eve’s determination to keep corporate or upper management out of this; the last thing she needs is Carolyn Martens breathing down her neck or giving her that trademarked slightly quizzical, slightly disappointed look she’s perfected. 

So Eve switches tacks altogether. 

She’s already figured that the saboteur, wily asshole that she is, is hardly going to use the same hiding spot as last time, and could very well be disguised anyway — somehow Eve gets the feeling this is something that would be perfectly on brand for her unwanted visitor. 

So she has the same note posted inside every damn display closet and wardrobe in the showroom large enough to (temporarily) store a human:

_Game over, baby. Consider me impressed. This is getting a little tired now anyway, don’t you think?_

(Kenny stares at the draft when Eve first hands it over for a full ten seconds before hesitantly asking if goading their possibly unstable, clearly theatric prankster is the best idea; Eve, naturally, elects to ignore this.)

A week passes. Two. _Three_. Though no one dares voice it, the possibility that the saboteur has moved on, or just gotten bored, becomes more and more real with every uneventful day that passes. 

This should be a victory, or at least a relief. This is what the team wanted, right? What _Eve_ wanted?

And yet. The reason that no one dares voice it is because Eve seems distinctly...disappointed by the inactivity. Let down. Almost annoyed?

There is no way to tactfully address this, of course, so the entire matter is left unremarked on and optimistically ignored. No news is good news. 

The uneasy peace breaks on the third Wednesday since the notes were posted; in hindsight, it’s clear that it lasting even _this_ long is impressive. 

And it soon becomes clear that the saboteur has outdone herself. 

First Elena comes to Eve’s office. Then, Kenny. Close on his heels is Hugo. All three are out of breath and frazzled, having been on shift in different parts of the warehouse. 

“Eve, the signs—”

“Total chaos—”

“The _maps_ , how did she even—”

Eve raises a hand. “Guys.” She points at Kenny. “What is happening?”

He stares at her. “She’s back. And…” He hands over the slightly crumpled sheaf of papers he’s been clutching; Eve tries not to grimace at their very real dampness, no doubt courtesy his sweaty palms. “Well, I think she got your message. This was by the staff computer in Work Spaces.”

It’s the notes they posted inside the wardrobes. _All_ of them, from inside every BRIMNES, every SONGESAND, every KLEPPSTAD, and every PAX on the floor, all stapled together. On the topmost sheet is scribbled, in the same script as the first two notes:

_Thank you for the note, Eve!! And you are so right — if you wanted me to up my game, all you had to do was ask! P.S. The meatballs in your cafe are surprisingly good._

The smiley face scrawled next to this is not promising. 

Eve stares at this. When she looks up, her face is blank. “What’s she done?”

“More like, what _hasn’t_ she done?!” Elena bursts back. “Honestly, I have no idea how she’s pulled this off, she must’ve been getting things in place for days. She’s changed the floor arrows, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. She’s also changed _all_ the shortcut signs, the area signs themselves, and even—”

“She’s changed the bloody maps!” Hugo cuts in, though he looks less frazzled and distinctly more amused by everything that is happening than the other two. 

“ _What?_ ”

He holds up one of the folded paper floor maps they have available at the entrance for customers. It is blue and neatly folded and otherwise unremarkable. 

“Should I...be reacting in some way?”

Hugo holds her stare as he (rather dramatically) unfolds the map and holds it up so that she can see the diagrams inside.

Eve squints at it for a moment, unsure, before understanding hits. “That little _prick_.”

At first glance, the map looks exactly as it should, a standard guide to the floors and areas of the IKEA showroom. But on closer inspection…

The asshole saboteur has gone to the effort of producing and printing an exact replica of the floor map, except. Everything. Is. Wrong. 

The layout is completely upside down, mislabeled and vastly inaccurate. Shortcuts are misplaced or removed altogether. There are areas on the map that don’t actually exist. There is, according to this map, a showroom for “Knives.” Just “Knives,” no further explanation. 

Eve stares for a moment longer before looking back at Hugo. “How many?”

He withdraws a few more from his pocket, fanning them out on her desk. “Every one I checked, or that was angrily thrown at me by a customer, so...all of them, is my guess.”

Eve massages her temples, grabbing one at random. “Jesus.” She unfolds it, confirming that yes, it is also another ridiculous copy, and then freezes suddenly. “Do they...all have this?” 

The three of them crane their heads over her desk to see what she’s pointing at. 

Eve didn’t notice it at first, but there is only one accurate feature on the map: the placement of the IKEA cafe. And on top of it is printed a little yellow speech bubble. It reads:

_EVE: lunch date??_

They all stare at this for a moment before Eve swears under her breath, surging to her feet, Hugo and company taking a step back at the look on her face.

She looks pissed, yes. But she also looks... _alive_. Wide awake. And entirely dialed in. 

Naturally, none of them dare comment on it.

“Hugo.” He straightens. “Find every single one of these maps, before any more customers get their hands on them and attempt something stupid.” She turns to Elena. “Get your staff to start looking for the real shortcut signs, and take down the fake ones. And Kenny,” he snaps to attention, “Just...start ripping up the floor arrows. Got it?”

They all nod, before Hugo and Kenny glance at Elena, Hugo widening his eyes at her meaningfully until she gets the message and says, “Um...and what will you do, Eve?”

Eve doesn’t say anything for a moment. 

“Eve?”

“I’m thinking.”

Then, she smiles. It is not an expression that provides any particular comfort to any of them. 

“I’m going to the cafe.”

  
  


**

The walk to the cafe confirms everything her trio of floor managers was saying. It’s utter chaos. Crowds wander in complete confusion and disarray, yellow-shirted employees struggling in vain to keep them moving along in some semblance of order, or explain why the “Knives” showroom doesn’t actually exist. 

Eve’s tightly controlled crucible is, for the moment, completely out of her hands and out of her control. 

The saboteur has done that. And far more thoroughly than ever before.

Fury courses through her. She’s pissed, of course she is. This is _her_ goddamn store. 

But, the sheer mayhem that has been unleashed here...the despair and disorder heavy in the air...it’s almost impressive, how masterfully it’s been unleashed. How planned. 

She glances down at the fake map in her hand. Carefully planned indeed.

All this effort. This planning. This _execution_. 

It’s very...well. Hmm. It’s possibly a bit flattering.

...Anyway.

She walks into the cafe. Here, at least, there appears to have been no significant destabilization, the calm dining area a little oasis from the cacophony of dread outside.

Eve scans the tables. A few families here and there, exhausted parents with children climbing all over them, several couples clearly not talking to each other after a mid-showroom squabble...all par for the course. 

Her eyes freeze on a table tucked into the corner, from where the sitter might get a clear view of the whole dining area. The person sitting there is wearing a flat-brim cap, hair pulled back into a ponytail, and...Eve’s eyes narrow. She’s holding up one of the fake maps, studying it with far more intensity than could ever be realistically expected. 

Eve’s got her. 

She strides up to her before she can change her mind, folding her arms expectantly. The woman takes her time looking up from the map, a smile spreading across her face as she slowly folds the map just so. Eve waits. 

Finally, she’s done. She folds her hands on the table, still smiling. “Hi, Eve.” She nods at the recently finished plate on the table. “Do you like meatballs? The ones here are good. I can wait.”

Eve stares at her for another moment, before abruptly snorting and shaking her head. “God, you’re such an asshole.” She pulls out the chair opposite and sinks into it. “I _knew_ I saw you. On that first day.”

Villanelle doesn’t deny it, just chuckling as she pulls her Daim chocolate cake to her. “Yes, that was me. I stuck around a bit too long that time, I’ll admit. But you came out with your employee person and I liked watching you boss people around.”

“I don’t _boss—_ ” Eve gives it up, only partially because it’s probably accurate. “What’s your name? You know mine, after all.”

“That is true. I’m Villanelle. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Villanelle. Enjoying yourself, then?”

The woman nods happily, saying through her bite of cake, “Very much.”

Eve studies her. She’s very...well. Yes. “You know, you’ve been a real pain in my ass, the last couple of months.”

Villanelle lifts a shoulder in vague acknowledgement. “Yes, but, you liked it, so…”

Eve has to laugh. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on, Eve.” Villanelle is unconcerned, lifting another bite of cake to her mouth as she says, “I always stick around long enough to see you, after. We’ve been having a great time, I can tell. The whole cat and mouse thing, it’s fun, right?”

“Yeah, not really—”

“You know, Eve, they say that going to IKEA together is the ultimate stress test for relationships, right? This is just like that.”

“This is _nothing_ like that.”

They stare at each other for a moment, Villanelle smiling slightly, Eve tense and stony-faced. But then her lips twitch, and she shakes her head again, grabbing a fork. “Give me that.”

Villanelle slides the cake to the middle of the table, wincing as Eve stabs into the middle and stuffs a large bite into her mouth. “That’s a bit impolite, Eve.”

Eve raises an incredulous eyebrow at her as she chews. “Impolite?” (A few crumbs spray here; Villanelle leans away.) “And what do you call wreaking havoc in my store and stressing out my employees for your own entertainment, multiple times?”

Villanelle grins, entirely unrepentant. “Come on, that was hilarious. The first time, okay, I was just bored. And it's so fun watching the people get scared and think they are losing their minds, you have to admit it.”

“Not so much fun when you’re the one who has to fix it all after, actually.”

“Maybe for some,” Villanelle replies, “But I see you come out, after, remember? That is why I keep coming back, because of you, Eve. I like seeing you wander the floor and all those thoughts happening in your head while you look angry but also sort of intense and happy. It’s cute.”

She waves the map. “I know you like my attention to detail. I see how you look at my notes.” She looks at Eve challengingly. “Or am I wrong?”

“You’re wrong.” Her reply is immediate but the complete lack of resolve in her words — not to mention the way she’s gone slightly pink — somewhat undercuts it. 

“Mm. Like I said, I’ve seen you. I think you’ve been a little bored, hmm? You like my challenge. You like _me_.”

She raises her eyebrows at Eve; Eve just looks back for a moment, her slight flush lingering, before some of her irritation seems to leave her, grudging amusement taking its place. “You have a massive ego, _and_ you’ve been a major headache.” 

Villanelle chuckles, holding up a hand in surrender. “Okay, okay, I’m _so_ sorry for giving you trouble, Eve.”

Eve snorts. “I’m sure you are. And the pranks themselves?”

Villanelle just shrugs, stabbing the last piece of cake right before Eve’s fork can get it. “Hey!”

Villanelle laughs as she pops it into her mouth. “This is a fun first date, Eve.”

“This is _not_ a date. This is like...a hostage negotiation, at best.”

“We are sharing cake and reminiscing about our memories together!”

“I didn’t even know you were watching me in those memories!”

“Yes, Eve,” Villanelle says, as if she’s talking to a rather slow child. “That is why it’s romantic.”

Eve stares at her before laughing despite herself. “We are eating a cake that I’m not even sure you paid for, in an IKEA cafe while about thirty feet away half the store is in complete meltdown because of your ridiculously overcomplicated and extensive prank.”

Villanelle preens. “Eve, please. You’re going to make me blush.”

Eve opens her mouth to reply, but Villanelle’s gaze suddenly sharpening at something behind her makes her pause, and she turns in her chair. At the entrance of the cafe are two burly IKEA security officers, scanning the dining area.

“Oh, right.” She turns back to Villanelle, smiling rather smugly. “This is not a date, and also, I’ve informed security to be on the lookout for someone with your exact description, _and_ had you listed as persona non grata for the store, so, you might want to make your exit now, because otherwise it might be much, _much_ later.”

For the first time, Villanelle looks taken aback, and Eve luxuriates in the feeling of finally catching her offguard. But then, she grins. “Eve, I love that you are keeping things interesting. That is _so_ important in a relationship.” 

“Oh my god—”

But Villanelle is rising, taking her hat off with one hand and loosening her hair with the other. “It looks like that’s my cue, then. This was fun, Eve. Let’s do it again soon!” 

She smiles at Eve before slipping on a pair of sunglasses and walking casually through the cafe, leaving through the alternate entrance before the security officers see her.

Eve stares after her, amusement and irritation warring inside her, before slumping in her seat, resting her elbows on the table. She’s totally lost it, it’s official. It’s the only explanation. 

She focuses on the hat Villanelle tossed on the table, noticing the map she was pretending to stare at still folded neatly underneath. She scoffs and grabs it — and freezes. Scribbled on the front is:

_Maybe we can even meet outside of an IKEA at some point? Let me know. —V_

There’s a number below it.

Eve stares at this, her thoughts racing. She feels a bit warm. 

Then, she stands, stuffing the map into her pocket, and leaves the cafe. She has a store in complete chaos to settle down.

The map burns a hole in her pocket. (Maybe it’s a little impressive. Just a bit.)

  
  


**

**[Eve Park]** Okay, maybe that was sort of fun after all.

**[Villanelle]** i knew it was a first date, eve!!

**[Eve Park]** Can you tell me where you stashed all the actual signs now? We’ve been looking for days.

**[Villanelle]** hm.

 **[Villanelle]** that is maybe second date material

 **[Villanelle]** but i think it’s good to remember the important things in life, like, as a random example, that material things can always be replaced

**[Eve Park]**...I’m going to kill you

**[Villanelle]** i really like you, too 😊

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this was a tad ridiculous, and that's valid. but don't try to tell me this isn't some shit villanelle would 100% canonically consider doing, and then thoroughly enjoy watching the results of, a la regina george in mean girls surveying her chaos
> 
> my sincere thanks to the inestimable Spayne for beta reading, offering some very valuable tips that much increased the quality of this story, and listening to me whine (whinge). 
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> @lightfighterfic twitter


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